


Empty Ache

by HotMolasses



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blow Jobs, Fantasy, Hannibal misses Will, M/M, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sort Of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-29
Updated: 2018-01-29
Packaged: 2019-03-10 22:35:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13511175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HotMolasses/pseuds/HotMolasses
Summary: The fantasy orgasm Hannibal had that made him decide to free Will from the BSHCI after weeks of pining at his empty chair.





	Empty Ache

              Hannibal sat in his office chair, during the time of Will’s appointment, for the third week in a row.  It wasn’t that he expected Will to suddenly appear; of course not.  Were Will to ever escape the confines of Frederick Chilton’s caricature of a psychiatric facility, Hannibal doubted he would ever return to sit across from him, gracing him with conversations such that only his beautiful mind could contemplate.

              But Hannibal missed those conversations.  More than he had realized he would.  And not only the dance of two equally matched intellects; but the cadence of the voice that carried the ideas.  The curves of the body that held the voice.  The face of the mind that reflected the intonations.

              Hannibal swallowed, hard.  He daren’t let his thoughts wander there again.  He had to retain more self-control than that.  Will had to take the fall for the Chesapeake Ripper’s crimes; Hannibal had no choice in the matter.  That beautiful mind that he sought was too sharp.  Will already knew him.  He was already speaking the truth.  Were he to be taken seriously, by even a single soul, the entire intricate life Hannibal had built for himself would unravel from the pull of a single thread.

              Oh, but if there was a way for Will Graham to be free.  If there was a way to have him back in this office; his voice returned to Hannibal’s ears, his scent returned to his nose.  Hannibal imagined the sound of his cheap, overworn shoes as they clacked across the floor; watched Will toss his bag unceremoniously upon the chaise, then flop himself into the chair that Hannibal had to move farther away to keep Franklyn from touching him.

              He rose and pushed his chair closer, until if Will were here, their knees would be touching.  He sat down again and his imaginary Will did not move, nor jerk away, but allowed their knees to brush, and Hannibal knew that this imaginative exercise had left the purpose of study and had entered the realm of fantasy.

              “You think you hide your desires from me, but I see them, as I see all of you.”

              His eyes burn into Hannibal with accusation, and it sears him with fire.  The fire spreads through his veins, and he has to close his eyes in order to remain still.

              Will puts a hand on his knee, and the fire sparks along his spine.

              “What are you fighting, Hannibal?”

              It is impossible not to look into his eyes.  Oh, those eyes; those eyes he has studied and gazed into for long moments—the only eyes that have ever gazed back at him and _seen_.

              “I have never been in such turmoil, since I sent you to Dr. Chilton’s playhouse.”

              He snorts a laugh.

              “Turmoil?  You?”

              His mocking tone stings.  His hand on Hannibal’s knee slides further up the inside of his thigh.

              “What are you doing?” Hannibal says.

              “Don’t pretend you don’t want this.”

              “It is irrational and serves opposite to all my purposes…”

              “Then stop me.”

              Will slips to his knees on the floor and presses a kiss to Hannibal’s knee, while his hand continues to slide up the inside of his thigh.  His imported Italian suit is suddenly quite tight, and Will only grins at him as he slowly trails kisses up the fabric.

              “You wouldn’t act this way.” Hannibal says, his breaths coming too fast for his liking.

              “Wouldn’t I?”

              Will’s hand reaches the bulge in Hannibal’s slacks and rubs over it.  Hannibal jerks up into the touch, so lost in his mind palace that he is barely aware that it’s his own hand.  Will’s lips press wet, wet kisses up his thigh, the warmth of his drool soaking against Hannibal’s bare skin.

              “I know who you are.” Will whispers, his fingers unbuckling Hannibal’s belt, his mouth now dangerously close to being fully between Hannibal’s legs.  Hannibal forces himself to keep his hands on the arms of the chair, his fingers curling to clasp the edges.

              “I know who you are, Chesapeake Ripper.  I’ve known for a long time, and yet I chose to tell no one.  Why do you think that is?”

              Will’s fingers rub over the lump in Hannibal’s pants and a soft groan escapes him.  His toes point and he forces himself to remain still in the chair. 

              “Because you weren’t certain…you had no proof, you were questioning your own sanity…”

              Will laughs.

              “You think I’ve ever cared about proof?  How many crime scenes have you seen me reconstruct, without any evidence besides what’s right in front of my eyes?  You think I care about my sanity?  It was shot to hell long before I ever met you, Hannibal Lecter.”

              Hannibal’s heart pounds at the sound of Will’s voice saying his first name.  Will’s fingers work their way into his pants and ease his aching erection free, his hand wrapping around it firmly, tugging slowly, a tease.

              Hannibal moans despite all his self-control.  His head tips forward and he gazes into Will Graham’s eyes.

              “I could have turned you in weeks ago.  Jack is like a hound dog; all I had to do was point his scent in your direction and you would have been done for.  But instead I continued to come here.  Continued to tell you my struggles; my innermost thoughts.  Continued to listen to yours.”

              Will’s tongue darts out to lick over the head of Hannibal’s swollen cock, and his hips jerk up of their own accord.  His fingers clasp the armchair until they're white, but his hips still push up, Will’s tongue licking around the head, mixing his saliva with the precum, making Hannibal shake.

              “I love our conversations as much as you do.” he whispers, his lips brushing over the sensitive head as he spoke.  “Why else would I continue them, even from prison?  Oh, I do hate you right now; but I hate you with _passion_ , such as I feel for no one else.  You are the only conversation partner I desire to have.  I grant your visit every time you come.  Not so with my other visitors.”

              Will sucks the head into his mouth and Hannibal gives a soft cry.  His hands leave the chair and clasp Will’s hair, entwining his fingers in his soft curls.  He bends forward as much as his body will allow and breathes in that sweet, sweet scent; a mixture of things Hannibal would never have thought in his wildest imaginings that he would enjoy, and now it sends his heart racing and his pulse pounding in his ears.

              “I need you, Will.” he says, his words failing him as the lust spreads deeper into his brain, drowning out the more rational part of him.  He bucks his hips shamelessly now, Will’s mouth sucking deeper and deeper until he has all of Hannibal inside of him, his tongue teasing every part that it touches, his drool sliding down to soak Hannibal’s pants.

              Sweat forms on Hannibal’s brow and his hips ache from thrusting.  His back creaks from hunching; his knees burn from how hard he's pushing against the floor.  Will is relentless; sucking him in exactly the ways he liked, not as if this was his first time but as old lovers who know each other well.  It was this that was his true fantasy; to know and be known; to be so tied together and so familiar as to be able to manipulate each other into absolutely anything they desired.

              Hannibal came hard, with a cry that echoed off the walls of his office.  Will didn’t swallow a drop of it; letting his spend spill over his own hand and ruin his pants; marking him of his lack of self-control, and announcing just how easily Will could make him lose himself.

              Hannibal collapsed into the chair, panting, a mess.

              Will stood and looked down at Hannibal, lifting a hand to press it against his cheek.

              “If you need me, then you must free me.” he said.

              “If I free you, you will leave me.” Hannibal replied, and Will snorted.

              “What a hollow fear.  You are beyond such baseless emotions.  You know me better than that.  Free me, and I will come straight to you.”

              Hannibal looked into Will’s brilliant eyes and knew it was the truth.  He nodded slowly, the exhaustion of the day and of his orgasm coming over his body, and closed his eyes.  Will vanished, leaving him alone, wet, and cold in his dark office, late at night.

              But he would not be alone for long.  Despite what it might do to him; despite the possibility that it would destroy the entirety of his life here in Baltimore, Hannibal chose Will Graham over it all.

              He tucked himself back into his pants, straightened his suit, and headed for the door.  He had a lot of planning to do; but if things went accordingly, Will would be able to make his appointment sometime in the next three weeks.


End file.
